


17

by stelleappese



Series: 30 drabbles [10]
Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, ish, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-25 00:46:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16651090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stelleappese/pseuds/stelleappese
Summary: “Have you ever been kissed, Dr. Goodsir?” James asks, his voice hoarse, barely audible.





	17

**Author's Note:**

> This is set right after [that other The Terror fanfic I wrote](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14744714), and was *also* supposed to be longer than it is /o\

“Have you ever been kissed, Dr. Goodsir?” James asks, his voice hoarse, barely audible. He’s been finding it hard to keep his eyes open, but doesn’t want to give up just yet: a blade of cold sunlight is falling on Goodsir’s hands as he scribbles, his eyebrows are knitter together, a stray curl falls on his face, no matter how many times he distractedly reaches up and tries to tuck it behind his ear.   
James could close his eyes now and never open them again. It would be a pity to miss any of it.  
Goodsir looks up from his notes, his focused expression quickly morphing into his usual half-surprised, half-mortified one.   
“Have I ever been kissed?” he repeats, as if needing to hear the words one more time to fully understand their meaning. He hesitates, inadvertently shakes his head even before answering: “No, I haven’t.”  
James doesn’t ask anything more, but Goodsir offers anyway: “I was never… there was so much to do, sir. My father needed help with his practice, I had my studies to focus on. Not to mention taking care of my younger siblings, as well, ” he smiles weakly, becomes lost in thought for a long moment. “My older brothers did attempt to… find, hm. A suitable candidate. For me to kiss, that is. When I was thirteen they kindly put together some money and tricked me into following them to a… house of ill repute.”  
“Your brothers brought you to a brothel?” it hurts to laugh, but James is beyond caring.  
“That they did,"   
"And yet you didn’t even get a kiss?  
"It did not feel right, sir.” Goodsir says, softly.  
The wind picks up outside the igloo. It makes the pelt on the entrance flop, and Goodsir’s thick curls bounce. It also catches Goodsir’s attention, because he’s frowning again, crawling to the pelt and trying to secure it more firmly, then crawling back to James and carefully fixing his covers.  
“Thank you for not lying to a dying man, Doctor.” James says.  
Goodsir goes still for a fraction of a second. “You cannot know that, sir.”  
“Whether you lied or not?”  
“If you’re going to die.” Goodsir says, and there’s a steel in his voice that James is sure he never heard before.   
“You never hesitated admitting someone’s fate before,” James says, finally resting his burning eyes.  
“You cannot know you are going to die,” Goodsir repeats, but it sounds more like he’s talking to death itself, informing her he has no intention of letting her take James.  
“I have already come to terms with it,” James says.  
“Then you’ve been too hasty, sir.”  
James shakes his head, lingering for a moment longer into the twilight behind his eyelids.  
“I find it liberating,” he murmurs. “I have nothing more to lose.”  
“Don’t say that…”  
“It makes things so much easier,” James continues, before finally opening his eyes and looking at Goodsir. “There is something I’ve wanted to tell you for a long time.”  
“Tell me?” Goodsir says.  
James nods. “I don’t quite know how to do it, though. I want… I need to be as honest as I can. But, even if I’m willing to hold nothing back, I cannot figure out how…”  
Goodsir doesn’t speak. He looks helpless. Does he think James is delirious?  
“What I mean to say is I think telling you I feel a great deal of affection for you… falls short.”  
“I do care about you, too”  
“The burning kind of affection, not the quiet one.”  
“Oh.” Goodsir murmurs, eyes going wide. Then, after a moment, he asks: “Why?”  
“Why?” James repeats, confused.  
“Is that a strange question?”  
“I declared my affection to you, and the first question that comes to your mind is why?”  
“Why me, that is. I don’t understand that."   
He looks a bit flustered, Goodsir, but still completely, almost comically, serious. If James had the strength to do it, he would laugh again. He just smiles instead, even if it makes his lips hurt.  
"I have never met a gentler soul than you,” he says. “The world is an harsh, uncaring place. Sometimes it feels as if every single person around you is trying to harm you. But you, Doctor, you are always so empathetic, so kind and wide-eyed with wonder…”  
“Some may say that makes me naive” Goodsir says.  
“Some may not know what the hell they’re talking about.” James replies. With perhaps too much vigor, because he then starts coughing and it takes him a moment to settle down again.  
Goodsir gives him a tired, warm, worried look. “Perhaps I should let you rest…”  
“I will rest better with you here.” James says. Or croaks, rather. “If that… if you find that appropriate.”  
Goodsir doesn’t say anything for a moment, than shakes his head with a smile.   
“I do find it appropriate,” he says, softly.


End file.
